The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1887-01-20

Our troops cannot have gone
away. They must he holding the
position after having driven off the
Turks Then Why don't 1 hear vol
ices and the noise Of the bivouac I?
l am 70 weak that is the reason |
can hear nothing Surely they must
be there. Help! belpl
Hoarse cries and wild vociferations
escape my lips; bat no answer. My
voic, is lost in the night.
All is qniet The cricket alone,
without cessation, causes it's monot-
GUS voice to be heard. Tho moon
with ber round face looks Mt mo uu-
pityiugly. II this neighbor Of mine
were only wounded, he would be
awakened by such cries. Ii must
surely be a corps--one of ours or a
Turk. My God isn't il all the
same ? Sleep dcsceuds on my heavy
eyelids.
III.
l am lying extended on the
ground. As though a long time
awake, my eyes ure closed, as do
not Wish to open them, for the sun
that feel shining on my face would
dazzle them 1t is better not to
stir. Yesterday (t seems il was
yesterday l was wour ded. Twenty.
four hours have passed spce then !;
twenty-fJnr m,ie will pass, aud l
sbull be dead.
II is better not TO stir, 10 remain
motiouless. Oh, how good il would
be to DO able to stop the incessant
working OF the braid, but there is no
way to check it. Thoughts, recol.
lections spring up in multitudes.
This, however, will not las. long.
Death is approaching, and all that
will be left of me will be few lines
in tho newspaper "Onr losses were
insignificant so many wounded !;
the volunteer 1vanoff killed." Prob
ably the name, even, will not be
there they will simply say, dead,
oIe." One dead soldier does not
amount to any more than that little
white dog.
A picture passes before my eyes.
II is a long time ngo. Aud, indeed,
my whole life, my other life, when
was not lying here with broken legs.
is 30 distant from me was walk
Jog along tho street when l came
upon crowd Of people. They were
looking at something white, dimin.
ntive, and bloody, which uttered
plaiutive yelps. 1t was little dog
that tramway car had jnst crushed.
rhe poor animal was dying at that
moment. A policeman came up,
elbowing the crowd, took the dog
by the neck, and carried it away.
The loafers dispersed.
Will some one come and carry me
away' No must stay aud wait for
death. Aud yet life is 50 beautiful
The day when the misfortune hap
pened to the little dog, l was walk
log fall Of rapturous life, and there
was reason for it Why, my cher
ished memories, do you come to tor.
ment me! Happiness in the past,
and 30 much suffering to-day! Alb,
if the suffering would only remain,
and If the memories would como 20
more to torment mo for the con.
tras. is more cruel than my wounds
themselves.
The heat becomes intolerable; the
sun is burdeniug hot.l open my eyes,
and see again the same bushes, the
same sky, only frightened by the
light OF day. Alb, here is my neigh
Dor, Turk, corpse. How big he
is! recognize him. 1t is he. |
The man lying there was killed by
me. Why did l kill him There
he lies, bloody, dead. Why did
Fate bring him here ? Who is be
Perhaps, like me, he has an aged
mother. She will remain long hours
at the door of her lowly dwelling, her
eyes turned toward the north, hop
ing to see return this son that she
loves, that is her stay aud support,
And what Of me ? Me, too! Will.
ipgly ! would exchange my lot for
his. He is happy. He bears noth-
ing, feels nothing-neither the poig-
nant sufferings that are lcaused by
wounds, nor the anguish of thirst
unsatisfed' The bayonet must have
pierced his heart. I can see O big |
black hole 10 his uniform, with blood |
all around it. And ii was l who did